I’ve always been fascinated by core memories.

Like many others, my primary anchor points to construct my whole world’s framework, were my parents. For a decent period of my childhood I was under the impression that all adults did was read, do math, and either partake in law or engineering - whatever that meant at the time. Amongst all adult activities laid a semblance of adult characteristics, not what an adult could be but what an adult should be, and by proxy how I, as a 3 year old, should start behaving to soon be considered an adult. One that quickly became a staple of an adult’s toolkit to navigate the world was memory, specifically learning, and recall.

I have very few memories of my mom ever misremembering something. This of course changed with age but for the purposes of this post let’s just picture this 30 something year old “adult” who could not only start reading, what to a 3 year old’s eyes were the biggest books I had ever seen (workers & corporate law books), but she would also finish them in one day. I of course had no other immediate points of reference for reading since my dad’s activities involved staring at math text books and equations on his office’s white boards so I defaulted to believing all adult activities boiled down to reading and math. Not too far from the truth depending on what circles you end up frequenting, specially through twitter.

The most surprising thing to me was not the ability to go through the textbooks but when I tried testing my mom’s memory she could easily convey a whole textbook’s meaning into a few succinct points. Not only that but her ability to remember these whenever I asked her again was fascinating. She would even use the same or similar words to describe whatever books I was barely able to lift and bring up to her to ask “and how about this one!” - one may have been let to believe she was pulling a trick, but she never missed or mixed up book or their lessons.

This level of recall was not an isolated event but it was seen throughout the totality of her daily life. I would made one mistake and promise to not spill over the water again and she would remind me of that broken promise it whenever i did it again. Whenever I would ask her about where I left something she would narrate me my entire day step by step and find where I had lost my favourite toy when I could barely remember what show I was watching moments before exclaiming “mom I need help”. This might seem as a mundane memories but as stated time and time again, I have clear memories of the very few times she has misremembered something.

So I figured “well…my mom can learn anything and she can also remember anything. my mom is just one of many people so this is probably normal”. The consequences of holding this belief for the next years were that I felt incredibly dumb. I could not believe how I had such a hard time remembering my day, or even remembering what date it was or if I had to go to school or not that day. As soon as I internalized that “every adult remembers everything”, every day became another chance to somehow increase my ability to remember that day and hopefully one day be considered an adult. Until one day it clicked and suddenly I was more thoughtful about my actions (as thoughtful as kids could be) and somehow putting more thought into them made me remember them more easily. I was elated and so happy about my new found ability to remember were my toys were and what happened to that piece of fruit I was just holding in my hand without it disappearing into the black hole of an unreachable short term memory.

However recall wasn’t enough. Yeah it was useful to know where my things were, or what I had done today, or what I had planned for tomorrow. Yet, the unspoken limiting factor and where there was still an abysm between my mom and I, it was speech - more precisely eloquence, the ability to utilize that newly found recall to express “mom, I forgot my toy at school under my desk, can we go back to pick it up?”. Truly world shattering power was acquired when I realized it wasn’t enough to just remember but talk about what I had just remembered.

A moment that cemented this was when I was trying to express something to my mom. Ironically enough I have no idea as to what that was. As she heard me continuously stutter and not opening my mouth clearly as I uttered the few syllables I could come up with, the words that were imprinted on me that night have resonated through every moment in which I am at a lost of words and don’t know what to say.

”You have a lot going on in your mind. But if you can’t express it, how would anyone know what you have going on there?”

If there was any moments that I can surely say will stay with me until my deathbed that’s definitely one.

The implications were not apparent as soon as I heard that. I remember thinking “oh she just wants me to speak louder and better” yet at some point that night I couldn’t help but wonder “Do I make sense to anyone? Has anyone ever truly understood what I had to say? If I don’t let what is inside my head outside of my head…how will anyone know what is inside there…how will anyone know I exist”. Clearly this had tapped into some anxieties about not being taken seriously enough as a kid. What other reason is there for a kid to try to become an adult if not that? Still, I remember those words fondly. Tt threw me into a journey of finding as many words as possible, and use them to fill up a canvas - truly portray myself as I wanted to be perceived with anyone I ever meet.

Portraits are not meant for the creators

One may argue words are meaningless and every attempt at self expression is lost to the invisible arrow of time as we reach a thermodynamic equilibrium and blah blah blah - if you’ve ever gotten into an argument and later on realized it was a miscommunication you are definitely on the camp of “Words Matter, actually” and so am I.

Words are beings in on of themselves, to view words as the map and the territory would be a misconstruction of them but if the meaning of someone’s expression could be distilled to their initial intention without a fault there would probably be no conflict in the world and I wouldn’t be writing this - instead i’d be enjoying the fruits of no-conflict-world that has somehow produced lactose free burrata with a side of sundried tomatoes. A banger meal if I do say so myself. (Chekov’s gun writer’s analogy would discourage bringing up this meal without a call back to it later on this piece but I am hungry and I am the writer so I may as well also use this as an outlet to exclaim “reader, give burrata and sundried tomatoes a try”)

As words, or any form of communication is catapulted out of a person’s medium of expression, every entity in the vicinity of it becomes a critic, a judge, a reviewer, a connoisseur, the most snobbish and cartoonishly knowledgable version of themselves. Everyone puts on a monocle and adjusts it ready to review what ever you have just said. No matter how pertinent or prosaic to their life it might be. Everyone will, at the very least, implicitly review you and you’ll be signed off as “that one person who said X”. So you better be happy with what you just put into the world.

In such a judgmental marketplace of ideas that more so resembles a free for all - why would anyone sane enough to avoid trouble choose to willingly conceptualize and then externalize that which their mind can not hold? Because at times, we all have the need to do so. So we might as well be mindful of its consequences.

MetaContent

I will not argue no one should ever express another idea since judgement will be casted upon each one who dares to communicate something, that would make life boring to say the least. I will however bring awareness, if not self-awareness, to being content with the type of content we put out there.

I have not been too content with the content I have produced in the past few years. At least on twitter, which is probably where you found this, it has become an outlet for deranged thoughts, hot takes, hornyposting, schizoposting, etc. Twitter has become, as cliche as it is, a diary that was curated not to my own pleasure but for the likes and retweets of my peers.

I am infinitely grateful for the friendships, opportunities, even loved ones I’ve found through this website and through the practice of producing content. Yet when I reflect on my timeline and the somewhat one sided behavior I’ve portrayed, I can’t help but wonder “what if I had produced other type of content too?”.

Ultimately what seems to matter is not the content someone creates itself but the people’s views, the marketplace’s consensus and implicit overall rating we assign to any piece of produced information as we partake on its propagation into a collective’s consciousness. The content’s soul may lay deep within layers of irony or embellished prose, but a content’s first layer will always be it’s metacontent: everyone’s thoughts and eventually your prejudgement based on whatever set of believes you just so happened to hold that day when it was your turn to become a judge to information diffusing through your community. This has even greater existential implications when attempting to account for all the people that may run into a piece of content in the future aka “Net present value of content” or “discounted metacontent flow” - especially if content is now more permanent or resilient thanks to blockchain, but we can get into that at another time.

Hence, dear reader, where we find ourselves today. Hi! My name is Mauricio, you probably know me as Bunny and you can refer to me with whichever makes sense to you. I’ve found it a bit hard to write anything somewhat long-form for quite some time (other than grant applications or prologued slack messages) and as I am finishing these last few sentences I am happy I still enjoy putting keystrokes to screen as much as I’ve enjoyed pen to paper in the past.

It’s still unclear to me what prompted this sudden urge to write and perhaps attributing it to “be mindful about the content you produce” is misguided. Still the fact that I have been ruminating about a post of the sort for a bit over a year is probably indicative of “hey! you once again need to get something out off your mind”. Then again it might be age as it is my birthday tomorrow so I want to partake on my yearly practice of deeper self-reflection and judgement, hopefully for the best.

This doesn’t mean I will stop tweeting. I love it there! I just also want to again tap into that core memory. Be proud of the content I produce. Intentionally assemble an exoskeleton of metacontent which maybe even continues the chain reaction that my mom started by producing content which eventually became a core memory to me, and hopefully I too can help create core memories people can hold dearly throughout their life. I want someone’s core memory of me one I can be proud of.

Hope you have a wonderful rest of your day wherever you are and whoever you are!~

imagine: a photo of one of if not my favourite burrata plates in the world, Capri Saint-Honoré at 42 Pl. du Marché Saint-Honoré, 75001 Paris, France.

I’ve always been fascinated by core memories.

Like many others, my primary anchor points to construct my whole world’s framework, were my parents. For a decent period of my childhood I was under the impression that all adults did was read, do math, and either partake in law or engineering - whatever that meant at the time. Amongst all adult activities laid a semblance of adult characteristics, not what an adult could be but what an adult should be, and by proxy how I, as a 3 year old, should start behaving to soon be considered an adult. One that quickly became a staple of an adult’s toolkit to navigate the world was memory, specifically learning, and recall.

I have very few memories of my mom ever misremembering something. This of course changed with age but for the purposes of this post let’s just picture this 30 something year old “adult” who could not only start reading, what to a 3 year old’s eyes were the biggest books I had ever seen (workers & corporate law books), but she would also finish them in one day. I of course had no other immediate points of reference for reading since my dad’s activities involved staring at math text books and equations on his office’s white boards so I defaulted to believing all adult activities boiled down to reading and math. Not too far from the truth depending on what circles you end up frequenting, specially through twitter.

The most surprising thing to me was not the ability to go through the textbooks but when I tried testing my mom’s memory she could easily convey a whole textbook’s meaning into a few succinct points. Not only that but her ability to remember these whenever I asked her again was fascinating. She would even use the same or similar words to describe whatever books I was barely able to lift and bring up to her to ask “and how about this one!” - one may have been let to believe she was pulling a trick, but she never missed or mixed up book or their lessons.

This level of recall was not an isolated event but it was seen throughout the totality of her daily life. I would made one mistake and promise to not spill over the water again and she would remind me of that broken promise it whenever i did it again. Whenever I would ask her about where I left something she would narrate me my entire day step by step and find where I had lost my favourite toy when I could barely remember what show I was watching moments before exclaiming “mom I need help”. This might seem as a mundane memories but as stated time and time again, I have clear memories of the very few times she has misremembered something.

So I figured “well…my mom can learn anything and she can also remember anything. my mom is just one of many people so this is probably normal”. The consequences of holding this belief for the next years were that I felt incredibly dumb. I could not believe how I had such a hard time remembering my day, or even remembering what date it was or if I had to go to school or not that day. As soon as I internalized that “every adult remembers everything”, every day became another chance to somehow increase my ability to remember that day and hopefully one day be considered an adult. Until one day it clicked and suddenly I was more thoughtful about my actions (as thoughtful as kids could be) and somehow putting more thought into them made me remember them more easily. I was elated and so happy about my new found ability to remember were my toys were and what happened to that piece of fruit I was just holding in my hand without it disappearing into the black hole of an unreachable short term memory.

However recall wasn’t enough. Yeah it was useful to know where my things were, or what I had done today, or what I had planned for tomorrow. Yet, the unspoken limiting factor and where there was still an abysm between my mom and I, it was speech - more precisely eloquence, the ability to utilize that newly found recall to express “mom, I forgot my toy at school under my desk, can we go back to pick it up?”. Truly world shattering power was acquired when I realized it wasn’t enough to just remember but talk about what I had just remembered.

A moment that cemented this was when I was trying to express something to my mom. Ironically enough I have no idea as to what that was. As she heard me continuously stutter and not opening my mouth clearly as I uttered the few syllables I could come up with, the words that were imprinted on me that night have resonated through every moment in which I am at a lost of words and don’t know what to say.

”You have a lot going on in your mind. But if you can’t express it, how would anyone know what you have going on there?”

If there was any moments that I can surely say will stay with me until my deathbed that’s definitely one.

The implications were not apparent as soon as I heard that. I remember thinking “oh she just wants me to speak louder and better” yet at some point that night I couldn’t help but wonder “Do I make sense to anyone? Has anyone ever truly understood what I had to say? If I don’t let what is inside my head outside of my head…how will anyone know what is inside there…how will anyone know I exist”. Clearly this had tapped into some anxieties about not being taken seriously enough as a kid. What other reason is there for a kid to try to become an adult if not that? Still, I remember those words fondly. Tt threw me into a journey of finding as many words as possible, and use them to fill up a canvas - truly portray myself as I wanted to be perceived with anyone I ever meet.

Portraits are not meant for the creators

One may argue words are meaningless and every attempt at self expression is lost to the invisible arrow of time as we reach a thermodynamic equilibrium and blah blah blah - if you’ve ever gotten into an argument and later on realized it was a miscommunication you are definitely on the camp of “Words Matter, actually” and so am I.

Words are beings in on of themselves, to view words as the map and the territory would be a misconstruction of them but if the meaning of someone’s expression could be distilled to their initial intention without a fault there would probably be no conflict in the world and I wouldn’t be writing this - instead i’d be enjoying the fruits of no-conflict-world that has somehow produced lactose free burrata with a side of sundried tomatoes. A banger meal if I do say so myself. (Chekov’s gun writer’s analogy would discourage bringing up this meal without a call back to it later on this piece but I am hungry and I am the writer so I may as well also use this as an outlet to exclaim “reader, give burrata and sundried tomatoes a try”)

As words, or any form of communication is catapulted out of a person’s medium of expression, every entity in the vicinity of it becomes a critic, a judge, a reviewer, a connoisseur, the most snobbish and cartoonishly knowledgable version of themselves. Everyone puts on a monocle and adjusts it ready to review what ever you have just said. No matter how pertinent or prosaic to their life it might be. Everyone will, at the very least, implicitly review you and you’ll be signed off as “that one person who said X”. So you better be happy with what you just put into the world.

In such a judgmental marketplace of ideas that more so resembles a free for all - why would anyone sane enough to avoid trouble choose to willingly conceptualize and then externalize that which their mind can not hold? Because at times, we all have the need to do so. So we might as well be mindful of its consequences.

MetaContent

I will not argue no one should ever express another idea since judgement will be casted upon each one who dares to communicate something, that would make life boring to say the least. I will however bring awareness, if not self-awareness, to being content with the type of content we put out there.

I have not been too content with the content I have produced in the past few years. At least on twitter, which is probably where you found this, it has become an outlet for deranged thoughts, hot takes, hornyposting, schizoposting, etc. Twitter has become, as cliche as it is, a diary that was curated not to my own pleasure but for the likes and retweets of my peers.

I am infinitely grateful for the friendships, opportunities, even loved ones I’ve found through this website and through the practice of producing content. Yet when I reflect on my timeline and the somewhat one sided behavior I’ve portrayed, I can’t help but wonder “what if I had produced other type of content too?”.

Ultimately what seems to matter is not the content someone creates itself but the people’s views, the marketplace’s consensus and implicit overall rating we assign to any piece of produced information as we partake on its propagation into a collective’s consciousness. The content’s soul may lay deep within layers of irony or embellished prose, but a content’s first layer will always be it’s metacontent: everyone’s thoughts and eventually your prejudgement based on whatever set of believes you just so happened to hold that day when it was your turn to become a judge to information diffusing through your community. This has even greater existential implications when attempting to account for all the people that may run into a piece of content in the future aka “Net present value of content” or “discounted metacontent flow” - especially if content is now more permanent or resilient thanks to blockchain, but we can get into that at another time.

Hence, dear reader, where we find ourselves today. Hi! My name is Mauricio, you probably know me as Bunny and you can refer to me with whichever makes sense to you. I’ve found it a bit hard to write anything somewhat long-form for quite some time (other than grant applications or prologued slack messages) and as I am finishing these last few sentences I am happy I still enjoy putting keystrokes to screen as much as I’ve enjoyed pen to paper in the past.

It’s still unclear to me what prompted this sudden urge to write and perhaps attributing it to “be mindful about the content you produce” is misguided. Still the fact that I have been ruminating about a post of the sort for a bit over a year is probably indicative of “hey! you once again need to get something out off your mind”. Then again it might be age as it is my birthday tomorrow so I want to partake on my yearly practice of deeper self-reflection and judgement, hopefully for the best.

This doesn’t mean I will stop tweeting. I love it there! I just also want to again tap into that core memory. Be proud of the content I produce. Intentionally assemble an exoskeleton of metacontent which maybe even continues the chain reaction that my mom started by producing content which eventually became a core memory to me, and hopefully I too can help create core memories people can hold dearly throughout their life. I want someone’s core memory of me one I can be proud of.

Hope you have a wonderful rest of your day wherever you are and whoever you are!~

imagine: a photo of one of if not my favourite burrata plates in the world, Capri Saint-Honoré at 42 Pl. du Marché Saint-Honoré, 75001 Paris, France.